


find me {where the wild things are}

by moegan



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy AU, Girl Saves Boy, there's magic and dragons and swords oh my
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moegan/pseuds/moegan
Summary: Sweet Pea has never been a fan of magic. He’s also never been a fan of dragons. Kind of ironic that one needs slaying.
Relationships: Sweet Pea (Riverdale)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	find me {where the wild things are}

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writemeourlovestory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writemeourlovestory/gifts).



It was not an easy decision, but money makes the man move, or so they say.

Desperation forces him to make the decision - eat or be eaten, so to speak. And this time, it is not just a metaphor, it’s a reality.

Sweet Pea is looking up at a dragon.

Sweet Pea _hates_ dragons.

Kind of ironic that one needs slaying.

* * *

The sword lies heavy in his hands as he twirls the hilt in his grip, a deep breath inhaled through his lungs. He mutters a curse under his breath, rolling his eyes as the dragon reels its heavy head.

“Here we go,” he mutters, taking muddy steps forward, baring his teeth to the beast who holds his fate.

-

Drenched in sweat, caked in blood, Sweet Pea rolls his shoulders and his head lolls but he forces himself to keep upright so he can finish this dragon. 

It is bleeding from it’s neck and it’s underbelly, groaning and roaring every time it moves too quickly. A particularly loud wail echoes from its lips and Sweet Pea cracks his neck, taking a breath before pushing into another wave of attacks and parries.

“Hold on!” a voice echoes from the entrance of the cave.

Sweet Pea turns his head, momentarily distracted from the beast. He squints to get a better look at you, hands trembling as he attempts to keep the sword within his grasp.

The staff within your grasp glows a muted purple, sparks of energy flying off of it as you dig it into the dirt. You motion to the man with your head, smiling gently, “I can dull its senses if you give me a moment to recite a spell.”

Sweet Pea has never been a fan of magic.

Then again, he’s also never been a fan of dragons.

His nostrils flare as he takes you in, large cloak and wooden staff, “I will _not_ be sharing my reward with you, mage.”

You snort, tapping your staff into the ground three times. The scent of the forest wafts in the air, swirling like a cloud of smoke towards the dragon. He feels his chest tighten, but somehow the ripped skin on his arms begins to stitch back together. 

“I need no reward,” you murmur as you step closer to him, still clutching the staff tightly in your grasp. You gesture with your free hand, two fingers in the air as you recite another spell under your breath, one that will now calm the dragon - freeing it of pain while also sidling it’s ferocity. 

Sweet Pea is able to slice his sword through a vulnerable place in the dragon’s scales. The dragon falls and the earth shakes, both of you having to steady yourselves against the wobbly ground. Once the dust settles, Sweet Pea turns his eyes on you and crosses the space between you within seconds.

“I said no splitting of the reward, mage,” he seethes, a finger pressed to your chest. He cuts his eyes downward, “I did not need your aid.”

You raise a brow, instead tilting yourself toward him, your own finger pressed between his pectorals, “Ah, yes, because you are soaked in dragon-blood, your boots are saturated with your own stench, and you _definitely_ could have swung that sword _one more time,_ I’m sure.”

That comment sets him backward, visibly wounding him. You smirk, twirling your staff between your fingers, “Is there anything specific you need from this beast? I do not need the reward, but I do need bits and pieces from the body for my stock.”

Sweet Pea is still reeling from your finger in his chest, the ghost of your touch resting there. He coughs to bring himself back to reality, stepping closer to the lifeless dragon, scales glinting like fire in the afternoon sunlight. Swallowing, he runs a hand over one of the feet, the claw blackened with earth.

“I will need to pluck the scales - they’re one of the most profitable bits. The teeth, too.”

“Great,” you smile, climbing up the arm towards the neck. “I just need the eyes and the claws. You can have the rest.”

Sweet Pea was not a fan of magic. 

But you might just change his mind.

-

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this!” you shout over the whirlwinds of the sea.

Sweet Pea narrows his eyes at you, “Mage, I was not aware you were to be onboard.”

You nod, fighting a smirk. He has windswept hair, a billowing white blouse adorned on his torso with tight-fitting pants to match. It’s enough to make anyone’s knees go weak.

“Well, when I heard you were a passenger, I knew you’d need my help eventually,” you manage before waving your staff in three circles, chanting a familiar calming spell under your breath. 

It takes a few moments, but the waves calm and the spirits of the ocean stop their chattering. You fall to your knees, surprised to feel a pair of arms circle around your shoulders to help you steady yourself.

You glance up at him, a thank you rolling off your lips just before your staff clatters to the deck and your body is soon to follow.

-

“Lilith, please-”

“Calm down, Pea. I’ve healed a few times in my life.”

“I-I know, I’m sorry.”

Your eyes peel open, senses groggy and dulled with some sort of herb that still tastes bitter in your mouth.

“Shh, she’s awake.”

The room is swaying and it takes you a moment to remember you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean. When you remember the storm, you bolt upward, two pairs of hands on either side of your shoulders, hushing you and reminding you to take it slow.

“The storm,” you mutter, groaning at the feeling of your stomach swimming in its own acid.

Sweet Pea’s voice is soft, “You quelled it. You need rest.”

You shake your head, “Must watch over the ship.”

“We’re in calm waters now,” a careful voice speaks from beside you, opposite of Sweet Pea. Her skin is dark and her eyes are violet and there is a thrum of some kind of bond that flows through you.

“Healing Mage?” you murmur in a question.

She removes her hood and dark curls spring forth, woven with gold to match the tattoos on her face. The two of you share a smile as she replies, “Yes, love. You are a spellcaster, I assume? The waving of your staff on the deck would suggest so.”

“Born with magic.” You turn to look at Sweet Pea, who looks mildly perturbed at the revelation. Reaching out, you take his hand, “Thank you, for not letting me pass out on the deck alone.”

He shrugs, sitting down on your bedside, “You did save me the embarrassment of being killed by a dragon. I owed you.”

“I suppose you did,” you respond, finding his hand amidst the blankets currently bunched up around your body. Your voice turns earnest, something you hadn’t meant to happen, “Thank you.”

The way he looks down at you makes something twitch in your chest and you wish you were strong enough to cast a spell to take you somewhere else, anywhere else, but here. 

-

“I thought you hated magic?”

“What made you think that?”

You snort, watching as he takes up the entirety of your doorway, “The absolute look of disgust on your face every time I use my wand was a bit of a dead giveaway.”

He shrugs, stepping inside and closing the wooden door behind him with a loud _thud_. Sweet Pea thumbs through a few of your spell books as he takes steps to become closer to you.

“What can I help you with?” you ask after a few moments of silence.

Sweet Pea tilts his head, looking you in the eyes. You can’t help the smirk that tugs on your lips, and you’re thankful for it when it makes him chuckle.

He bites his lip, “My fields, the crops, they’re dying. The runoff from the kingdom is poisoning my land. I feed too many of the southern part of the kingdom to allow this to continue.”

“You feed the Southside?” you question, pushing your way through various bottles with different colored liquid. A few ingredients find their way to your worktable with the simple wave of your hand.

Sweet Pea nods, “Yes, the responsibility of the Serpent clan tends to fall on my shoulders. I inherited my land from my mother before she passed.”

He waits while you thumb through your potions and ingredients, the bottles and boxes floating through the air as you choose them. You laugh at a certain container and the sound brings a gentle smile to his lips.

“My father was from the Southside,” you mention.

You turn and begin concocting some sort of magical substance within a big, black pot that Sweet Pea will come to learn as a _cauldron_. His eyes track your motions as you flit about within your home, comfortable and fluid as you traipse throughout the space.

“Does the Jones family still live there?” you ask, trying to fill the empty void with some sort of conversation. “I once knew Forsythe’s son, but it has been a few years since we last spoke.”

Sweet Pea finds a seat at your table, his large frame folding in the small space, “Yes, Forsythe and his son still lead the Southside to some extent. They are the ones we send to meet with the king when there are needs we cannot fulfill ourselves.”

“Is that why you’re here?” 

He stops, unable to find an answer.

In the lack of speech, you can’t hold back a laugh. You turn to him, your thigh brushing against his knee as your potion bubbles. You tilt your head, “Sweet Pea, I’m teasing. Lighten your spirits.”

“Magic makes me uneasy,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Then why _are_ you here?”

His silence is your answer.

-

The Southside’s crops flourish and you start to get more visitors.

First, it is Forsythe’s son. He remembers you from your childhood, before you fled the Southside after your father’s untimely death. 

Then, it is a young woman named Elizabeth, betrothed to Forsythe. He brings her to visit you, asking for some sort of potion that you’d rather not repeat to the general public.

Another time, it is a bombshell of a woman who introduces herself as Antoinette. You mesh with her easily, as she is trying to learn magic but mostly has a gift for healing. Your talents do not lend to healing easily, but you can work at it enough to teach her.

Sweet Pea is always their guide, finding his way to your home at least once every few weeks with some need for another potion or another spell or another enchantment or another magic item.

“If you would like to visit me, you can come alone, you know.”

It catches him by surprise as he ushers Antoinette out the door one evening. The moonlight glints in his eyes as he looks at you over his shoulder, his bottom lip dropping just enough to bare his teeth.

“I may have to take you up on that next time,” he manages before shutting the door behind him.

Your heart squeezes and you wonder if he’s telling the truth.

Your hands itch to craft a truth serum.

You restrain yourself.

-

It takes him another three months, but when your doorbell chimes, only one set of boots walks over your threshold.

“What is it you ne- _oh_ , Sweet Pea.”

He looks tense - shoulders tight and jaw muscles taut. He ducks into your den, licking his lips as he attempts his first sentence.

“I, uh, I thought that I might-er, take you up on your offer?”

You find it in you to laugh, stepping forward to touch his bicep with just the tips of your fingers, “Great, I’ve just put the teapot on. Do you like earl gray?”

The tea does not have truth serum, you swear.

But somehow he wants to spill all of his secrets.

It takes an hour, but eventually he asks: “Did you cast a spell on me?”

The tea is cold against your lips, mug almost full thanks to the words that have superfluously flown from your lips since the moment you sat in front of him. You shake your head, setting the mug down on your tabletop, “No, I forced myself to stray from magic today, once you stopped by my door.”

“My father was murdered with magic,” he speaks quietly, covering his mouth with his mug after the revelation has been spoken.

You want to rush to him, to hold him by the cheeks and apologize for all of the nasty magic-wielders you’ve ever known and all those who might have had a hand in harming him.

“Nothing you can do,” Sweet Pea speaks curtly as if reading your mind. 

“I know,” you answer, “doesn’t mean I can’t be angered.”

Sweet Pea places his mug on the table next to yours and when his knuckles brush your own, electricity sparks up your veins. One of the side effects of having magic in your veins means that you feel things one thousand percent more than the average human.

“I’ve never met a good, honest wielder of magic,” Sweet Pea continues. He sighs and chews on the inside of his lip, “When I met you in the dragon’s cavern, I wasn’t sure if I should kill you or not.”

You scoot yourself closer to him, your chair scraping against the wooden floor beneath you. His eyes dart to yours, dark and tumultuous. You want to reach out, to graze your fingertips against his thigh, but you hold yourself back.

“Have you discovered what decision you should have made?” you ask, breathless.

Sweet Pea’s palm is warm when it connects with your knee, burning through the flimsy fabric of your skirt. Immediately, you cover his hand with your own, curling your fingers around his knuckles. His breath hitches and his throat bobs, but he answers you anyway.

“I know now killing you was not the right answer,” Sweet Pea leans in close to you, the tea on his lips tantalizing as his body tilts toward you. He licks his lips and you follow the motion with your eyes, wondering what his tongue would feel like against yours. 

“Now,” he whispers, “I’m wondering whether or not to kiss you.”

You can’t help the smirk that grows on your lips, “Oh, fear not, I can make that decision for you.”

Your mouth against his sparks some sort of electricity, but in the warmest, most inviting way. Tingles spread down from the base of your neck, pooling in your stomach as his lips move slowly, torturously against yours. 

One of his hands is in your hair, the other trailing its way up your thigh towards your hip, dragging you closer to him with every gentle noise your mouths make. He lets a groan echo from the back of his throat and you feel a certain twinge at the base of your spine which launches you forward, knees on either side of his hips as you settle against his body.

“At least one of us is decisive,” he mutters as his hands traverse your body. A smile turns his lips upward and you can feel it against your mouth, “If it were up to me alone, we would still be mixing elixirs.”

You roll your eyes as you pull away, thumbing through his hair, “I can mix you an elixir, Southsider. It’ll blow your mind.”

A soft look overtakes his face, his eyes gentle and his touch even sweeter, “You blow my mind, sunshine. No elixir required.”

You’re not sure how to respond, so you kiss him instead.

As you feel his spirit wash over you like sunlight, you realize he’s right - absolutely no magic required.

**Author's Note:**

> harry i hope you're in love!! i plan on posting the other two works this weekend for you :) i wanted to make it up to you by writing your other two prompts/requests from the 3 because i also just love them. i hope you like it! x


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